Page 76 of Wicked Court

But before words can spill from my mouth, his fingers dig into my cheeks.

“Elara,” he whispers. This time, it’s not a warning.

His lips crash against mine in a way that ignites every nerve ending in my body. My shocked moan fuels the fire, our tongues entwining.

My arms wrap around him, my fingers trailing down his spine with a gentleness belying our fierce kiss.

He reacts by groaning as if in pain, then sinking his teeth into my lower lip, cutting into the tissue. I yelp and he tears away, wincing and bowing over.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.

There’s panic in his voice, so different from the man who happily told me to strip so he could tie me down, and it’s a reflection of the panic that’s rising in me.

I hold my fingers to my lip, pulling them back and seeing the splash of red there. My mouth throbs where he bit me.

“What happened?” I ask, still staring at my bloody fingers. “What did I do?”

Axe twists away from me, blowing out an exhale and shaking out his arms before turning back around.

“No, it’s not you,” Axe answers bitterly. “There’s just... you touched some fresh injuries. On my back.”

I let it all sink in. Axe’s protective body language, his consistent recoil when I get too close, the battle clearly waging within his expression.

“Show me.”

My tone leaves no room for argument.

Axe gives a sharp shake of his head, agony etched in the lines of his face as if in an attempt to figure out what he’s supposed to do. “You don’t want to see it.”

I utter a single syllable, a command that’s been building within me ever since I put the pieces together. “Turn.”

Slowly, Axe obliges.

Because he’s used to being told what to do.

It should satisfy me to locate his weakness, but goddammit, all I can feel is heartache.

His shoulders are rigid when he swings around. I can hear the tension in his breath as it slides in and out of his chest.

The fabric of his shirt conceals most of what there is to see, but what little skin is left bare by the collar appears tender, marred.

“Take off your shirt.”

The words sting my ears as I say them, stark and uncomfortable in the otherwise quiet clearing.

I rarely bark orders. I smile and participate and try to be friendly to everyone. This isn’t me.

Except … who was the girl in the Court’s basement, desperate to be fucked by all four of the men who’ve been harassing me for days?

Axe doesn’t react at first, but eventually he pulls his shirt over his head and discards it on the ground.

Then, the moonlight illuminates his back, violent slashes spread before me.

Scars web across his pale skin. They twist and curl like vines on a trellis, each one holding a story of brutal lessons.

Some are fresher than others, the cuts raw and angry.

A gasp clings to my lips, but I swallow it down until it’s a ball of nausea in my stomach.

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